


Show Me How You Do That Trick

by soroga



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bodyswap, Flayn Just Wants To Have Fun, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soroga/pseuds/soroga
Summary: Claude accidentally swaps bodies with Flayn and begs her to keep quiet to spare him Seteth's rage. Flayn agrees on the condition that she gets to experience life as a normal young person while she's him. And in the meanwhile, Claude can deal with Seteth, can't he?It's a good thing neither of them has secrets they're trying to keep. It sure would be hard to hide things while bodyswapped!
Relationships: Flayn & Claude von Riegan, Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 183
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

Flayn wakes up to the unfamiliar feeling of papers stuck to her cheek and the certainty that she is somewhere other than where she went to sleep.

She bolts upright, hands flat on the surface beneath her as she twists her neck, looking at either side warily. If she's been kidnapped once more, her father will truly never let her out of his sight again! 

But there's no kidnapper in the room with her. In fact, there's no one at all, though a moment's inspection makes it clear that this is a student's room at the monastery. And one that clearly has an occupant this year - the papers her cheek was pressed against flutter to the floor, covered in writing, and the poorly-made bed has a student uniform spread carelessly over it. Though she fell asleep in her own bed, she has somehow awoken sitting at someone else's desk.

"How odd," she says to herself. Did one of her new friends place her here for some reason?

But she finds herself distracted from this train of thought immediately, because her voice does not sound as it should. It is too deep and just _off_ , a pitch she has never heard coming from her own throat. And when she looks down, her hands do not look like her hands, though they obey her when she tells the long, dark fingers to move or the wrists to twist. 

She has a terrible feeling about this.

To test her suspicions, she walks over to the mirror above the dresser. And, sure enough, when she peers into it, it is not her own face peering back, but the face of Claude von Riegan. 

Her shock drives her to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at Claude's hands. Her hands? How did this come to pass? 

If her father had any idea the situation she was in, he would undoubtedly insist she come find him - or tear apart the monastery to reach her himself. But instead, after taking a moment to gather herself, Flayn bends to also gather the papers she disturbed. And to look them over, of course. 

The contents are scattered. On one page, Claude chose to painstakingly copy out the lineages of the major noble houses of the Kingdom and Empire; on another, Claude has for some reason ranked the territories of Fodlan by their climate and soil quality. A third sheet is covered in names of plants native to Fodlan with their effective doses listed next to them. Flayn had no idea Claude was interested in medicinal plants! Though he must be using a different measuring system than she is familiar with - all the listed quantities are so high that under the system Flayn is familiar with, they're far more likely to cause harm than to fix it. 

She puts the paper in a neat stack on the desk, then continues checking around the desk. It's relatively neat, leaving her with little to root through, but the desk drawer holds some promise. Or at least, it seems to until she actually starts going through it. There are some letters there, but closer inspection shows that they're from the current Duke Riegan's steward and contain nothing more interesting than sums and figures about grain allotment and trade. There are a few daggers lying about and a little wood carving of some animal Flayn doesn't recognize, something with huge ears and an oddly long nose. There's also a mysterious black box, but when she pulls it out and opens it up on top of the desk, she finds that it contains nothing more interesting than dried herbs, carefully separated into individual vials. 

Flayn sighs in disappointment. Claude is a young man with his own quarters and no bothersome relatives hovering over his shoulder. Where are all his books of romance and passion? 

She dejectedly stows the herb kit, all but prepared to give up on Claude as a terrible bore, when her fingers brush something at the back of the drawer. Not an object, but something amiss - a slight unevenness in the place where the bottom of the drawer meets the back. 

Curious, she digs her fingers in more, until the bottom of the drawer starts rolling up in her fingers. Or perhaps she should say the _false_ bottom, as there is clearly something beneath. 

How clever of Claude! She will have to think about getting her own secret drawer sometime. But first, she is ever so curious about what Claude might consider worth keeping hidden. 

She unrolls the false bottom carefully, folding it up halfway so she can tuck part of it underneath the herb kit and keep it open that way. Below, she finds not books, but - letters? 

Flayn picks one up. It seems to be in some kind of code. But she has always been good with that sort of thing - perhaps if she takes a moment with a scrap of paper and a quill, she can decipher it - 

But before she can find either, she is interrupted by a knock at the door. This clearly becomes a series of knocks, desperate and strained. 

"A moment, please!" Flayn shoves the letter back where she found it, pushes the false bottom back down, and slams the drawer shut before hastily making for the door. 

And there, on the other side of it, is her own face, bearing an expression she has never seen on it before in the mirror, sharp-eyed and serious. 

Oh, of course. She'd gotten distracted by her curiosity, but if she was in Claude's body, where could Claude be except in her own?

"Please come in, Claude," she says, and steps aside to let him enter. 

"Thanks," Claude says, and oh, how strange it is to hear his breezy tone in her voice! 

He looks around, sharp eyes lingering on the desk. Flayn is suddenly quite sure that Claude’s usual organizational style is not to leave his papers in a neat stack out in the open. But he says nothing of this; instead, he says, “well, this sure is an odd situation we’ve found ourselves in.” 

“Yes,” Flayn says, circling him. It’s so odd to be the taller one in a conversation. She didn’t think she was _quite_ so short. “You are unharmed, though? Everything is fine?” She feels normal enough, but she still doesn’t know everything about the differences between humans and Nabateans. Who knows what effects being in her body could have on Claude?

“Oh, yeah.” Claude waves a hand dismissively. “The worst thing that’s happened to me so far is dealing with Seteth grilling me on where I was going. Does he always require such a detailed account of your movements?” 

Flayn groans. “Yes, always. What did you tell him?” 

“Oh, that I was sick of him hovering over me and was going to get some air,” Claude says. “I figured that’s probably a blowup you have with him every week or so at the minimum. He didn’t seem surprised, anyway. But - can you please stop circling around me like that? I feel like I’m in a fishbowl.” 

Flayn stops. “I was just thinking that this is not terrible at all,” she says. “I am sure, no matter what the cause of this is, the archbishop will be able to set it right! But perhaps before then we could go to my room? I would very much like to see how my usual clothing looks on me from the back.” She peers closely at Claude. “I had no idea my hairstyle made the back of my neck look so odd.”

“You woke up in someone else’s body and you want to play dressup?” Claude sighs. “Actually, you know what, that’s fine. But maybe we shouldn’t tell the archbishop. Something really strange is going on here, and I think it might be best to figure it out ourselves.” 

His face - her face as he wears it - looks perfectly earnest. Flayn knows that expression well, because she has gotten very good at knowing when to use it, and that makes it very easy to see through. “You mean _you_ caused this?” She asks, blinking. “And you don’t want the archbishop to know because...you were meddling with some sort of forbidden art?” 

Claude doesn’t seem to have a single romance novel, but he somehow has the materials to do some sort of unsanctioned magic? He truly is the worst person Flayn could have swapped bodies with. 

“Busted,” Claude says with a little wince. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you, Flayn? That would be kind of childish, running off to tell the nearest adult that something happened instead of handling it yourself.” 

“I do not appreciate your attempts at manipulating me,” Flayn says, “but no, just this once I will not ‘tell on you.’ In fact, you can have as much time as you’d like to switch us back.” 

Claude watches her intently. “That’s very generous of you, but I sense that there’s a catch somewhere.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Flayn assures him. “While you learn how to change us back, I will do my utmost to live your life as an ordinary young person. Oh, I cannot wait to go into town with a friend! Or to order a drink at the local tavern. Why, I might even wear something that exposes my knees!” Her father always makes such a fuss when she tries to wear something so revealing that it isn’t worth the effort, but no one is going to shriek at Claude if he does the same.

“Okay…” Claude says slowly. “It could be worse, I guess. But Flayn, try not to act too suspicious, will you? We’re trying to keep this a secret.” He sighs. “I guess it’s a good thing Teach put off our next mission until the end of the month...if I can’t figure out how to switch us back by then, we’ll definitely have to come clean.”

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Flayn says, only sort of listening. Most of her attention is on her own hands as she feels the sides of her new body. Claude has such narrow hips, but perhaps she can ask Hilda to help her make a skirt that will fit it? 

Claude sighs. “I guess that’s the most I can ask for. Come on, let’s get to class.”


	2. Chapter 2

Flayn enjoys the walk to class immensely! She hasn’t gotten to see this side of the monastery since the students arrived for the new year. Her father gets very upset about the idea of her speaking to one of the students in their own bedrooms. But it’s completely different walking through the dorms when they are inhabited. There’s so much movement - students wandering into and out of the bathing facilities, knights patrolling, even the occasional child scurrying about carrying a load of laundry or fresh bedding. 

Sylvain strolls down the hall in their direction, and Flayn tenses.

“Hey Claude… _heyy Flayn._ ” He winks at Claude in Flayn’s body. “What are you two doing together so early in the morning? Claude, did you snag a date with one of the cutest girls in Garreg Mach?” 

“No, I am merely escorting her to class,” Flayn says before Claude can interject, gripping Claude’s arm tight. “Good day to you!” 

She wheels them around towards the nearest staircase, taking the stairs two at a time as Claude stumbles beside her. (Taking the steps two at a time takes so much less effort with Claude’s legs!)

“Good effort avoiding Sylvain, but I think we can work on the execution a little,” Claude says, bemused. “You didn’t exactly sound like me. Sylvain’s a smart guy with a nose for trouble; the more odd you act, the more likely he is to stick around.”

“A smart - do you mean to imply that you speak to Sylvain regularly?” Flayn asks, horrified. She takes a moment to pull Claude aside by the stone steps separating the first floor from the grass below, putting a grave hand on his shoulder. “Claude, you must know that Sylvain brings misfortune to all who get too close to him! He seduces men and women alike in his cruel games. He...he _has relations_ with the monastery animals...he has done terrible things to the horses!”

Claude stares at her, mouth hanging open. 

Flayn takes his hands in hers, staring imploringly down into his eyes. “Please, you must promise me that you will speak to Sylvain no longer. Not when you are in my body and not when you are in yours, either.” 

“Wow.” Claude finally recovers, his mouth shutting as he rubs the side of his face in amazement. “I cannot _wait_ to speak to Seteth as you. That’s going to be one amazing conversation.”

“I do not see what that has to do with the matter at hand, but I am glad you are looking forward to it,” Flayn says, brow furrowing. “But you will promise, will you not?”

“Sure, I’ll avoid talking to Sylvain so that he doesn’t seduce me and then break my innocent heart by leaving me for a chicken.” Claude bats his eyelashes as he says it. “Now come on, we don’t want to be late. Or too early! It would be nice if we could slide into class right when it’s starting and not have to talk to anyone.” 

Somehow Flayn does not think he is being entirely sincere in his promise, but he is correct that it would be very rude to the professor if they were late. 

They do manage to make it to the classroom just in time - or nearly. In fact, they might be a minute or two early, for as Flayn slips into the seat where Claude usually sits, Lorenz accosts her. “Claude! I must speak with you.” 

“You are welcome to,” Flayn says eagerly. She is always pleased to speak with one of her fellow classmates!

Lorenz scoffs. “Must you always mock me? Your false manners are deplorable. In any case, I wished to speak with you about House Daphnel’s objections to stationing their forces at Kupala. Surely you have come to some conclusion on the matter?”

Flayn has come to the conclusion that Kupala is a very nice name for a place and that she likes the color of Lorenz’s hair. “I have come to many conclusions,” she says instead of either of those things, as she does not think they are the sort of things Claude would say. “What are your thoughts, Lorenz?”

“My thoughts?” Lorenz sputters. “Obviously my thoughts are that House Daphnel is being utterly ridiculous! The Kupalans might have strange ways, but our obligation to them is no less strong for it, especially as they lie between the Almyrans and the port of Edmund. But I am sure you think that the Almyrans will never attack again and so House Daphnel is doing nothing wrong by shirking its duty.” 

“On the contrary,” Flayn says, “I think your conclusions are quite sound! Let us go with them.” 

She hears Claude snickering in the row behind her, but she is too busy speaking to Lorenz to turn and see what he finds so amusing. Perhaps he will tell her after class.

“Go...with them?” Lorenz blinks. “Do you mean to say...you _agree_ with me? And you have nothing else to add?” 

“Yes. That is what I am saying.” She hears the door open once more, and a quick glance confirms her suspicion. “Oh, but here is the professor! You should find your seat at once, Lorenz.” 

“I…” 

“And perhaps you should see Manuela after class,” Flayn suggests. “You sound quite dazed. Are you perhaps coming down with an illness?” 

Lorenz opens his mouth to respond, but at that moment the professor makes her way to the front of the class, her unblinking gaze sweeping over them. Lorenz hastily finds his seat. 

Flayn enjoys sitting in the front row. The professor’s voice is just as engaging when heard through Claude’s ears as through her own. She takes notes eagerly, though they come out strangely. She expected Claude’s body would remember his own handwriting, as it remembers how to walk and go down stairs and grasp the water cup before her even though Flayn’s mind is used to shorter legs and fingers, but for some reason the letters come out wrong if she does not concentrate on them. How odd! Perhaps it is a feature of the strange magic they are under? 

This mystery occupies her for some time, until it is her turn - Claude’s turn - to be called up before the professor and individually instructed.

She goes eagerly. But the professor’s questions are all about bows! She supposes she should not be surprised, as she does not think Claude has much experience with Faith magic, but she is still caught off-guard for a moment. She answers to the best of her ability, but she can see from the professor’s expression that she does not do as well as hoped. And then, to add insult to injury, the professor critiques her performance.

“I already feel terrible enough,” Flayn protests. “There’s no need for harshness.”

The professor cocks her head to one side, quizzical. Flayn gets the impression that she perhaps said something unClaudelike. 

No matter! The professor is a great accomplice; even if she unravels the truth, Flayn doubts she will reveal anything to Seteth. Still, she is feeling rather low as she returns to her seat. She failed every single question...she knows she is not as well-rounded in combat as some of her fellows, but _every_ question…

Claude gives her a sympathetic grimace as she returns to her seat. When she sits, Leonie leans over to give her a brisk pat on the hand, which cheers her immensely. She may not know much about bows, but she has friends! Or, Claude has friends, at least. But they are also her classmates, and perhaps in time they will become her friends as well.

Several more students are called up one by one before it is Claude’s turn. Flayn watches him fail again and again, hiding behind her water cup several times in shame as he fails to answer the simplest questions about healing. He handles it with slightly better humor than Flayn herself had, but she finds it truly unfair. If only the professor would allow them to collaborate, they could do much better.

But she will not waste time pitying herself over it. Especially not as all the water she has drunk makes her realize there is a more pressing issue, not long after Claude takes her seat. 

She jumps to her feet. “I must use the facilities,” she announces. 

The professor blinks slowly at her. Beside her, Ignatz blinks much faster, looking confused as to why this has interrupted his instruction time. 

But she did not make this announcement for Ignatz’s sake. As she turns towards the door, she looks towards Claude. But he has not moved at all! Instead he is doodling, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “Cl - Flayn?” She asks. “Do you also need to use the facilities?”

Claude shuts his eyes slowly, his face falling into his hands as though some great spectre of doom has washed over him. He is not alone; Lorenz has a thunderous expression on his face for some reason, and Hilda looks rapidly between Claude and Flayn, eyes wide in shock.

However, Claude does not rise to his feet. In fact, he stays as he is, face in his palms. Flayn turns towards the door with a shrug. She made a very strong effort to alert him! 

Flayn enters the washroom nearest their classroom, locking the door before she attempts to take a look at what she is working with. The only time she has seen a man in a state of undress has been on the battlefield, while trying to heal those who were terribly wounded. As such, she did not spend much time looking. Now, though, she can take as much time as she’d like. 

She unlaces Claude’s pants and wiggles them down her thighs alongside his smallclothes. And then she looks. 

And frowns.

“Is that truly it?” She laments. Why, such an organ is somewhat strange-looking, but from the way her father seems so distressed at the thought of her alone with a male student for chores, so much moreso than he becomes at the thought of her alone with a fellow female student, she expected...more. There aren’t even any spikes. 

She grasps the head of her penis firmly between her thumb and index finger, stretching it to its full length. No, absolutely no barbs that she can see. How disappointing. 

She lets go of it and it slaps against her thigh in quite a silly manner. Eyes widening, she picks it up again and lets it go again. Then she twists from side to side, watching it flop from one thigh to the other as she pivots her hips. 

How delightful! Not quite as good as spikes, but she will take what she can get.

Urinating turns out to be fairly straightforward as well. She just holds it and points it, like a very short hose. 

She tucks her penis back into her smallclothes, feeling satisfied. Her father does like to make a fuss about everything, and yet here she is, having unraveled the mysteries of this organ without him knowing!

Or, some of the mysteries, at least. Flayn has a sudden thought that leaves her blushing into her hands. She couldn’t possibly ask Claude his permission to do such a thing to his body, though. She’ll have to make do with written materials. Perhaps one of Claude’s mysterious letters will contain some erotic art detailing the entire process. 

She returns to class feeling quite well. Lorenz glares at her as she enters, which she finds odd. They had such a pleasant conversation at the beginning of class! It can be very difficult to predict the moods of young men, though. She puts it out of her mind, concentrating on her study materials instead.

Shortly before class ends, something bounces off her shoulder and slides onto the desk before her. A note! She snatches it up eagerly and unfolds it. 

Then she deflates, because it’s nothing interesting. Just a note from Claude - _Don’t wait for me after class. Walk to my room and wait there. LEAVE RIGHT AFTER CLASS._ The last four words are underlined. 

Flayn sighs and tucks the note away. Claude is a nice young man, but he is not very subtle. 

Still, she does as instructed, certain Claude must have a good reason for it. Though she would love to stay and speak with Hilda, who grabs for her arm with such a look of delight on her face that she surely must have something wonderful to discuss, she instead excuses herself, rapidly shuffling out the door. 

“Hey, Claude, wait up!” Hilda protests, but she seems loathe to run after her, allowing Flayn to abscond successfully.

She ducks into Claude’s room with no one else stopping her for a chat. She’s almost disappointed, especially as she hardly has time to look around before Claude joins her, shutting the door behind himself with a pained look. 

“Well,” Claude says, rubbing his forehead, “that could have gone better.”

Flayn frowns. “I thought it went quite well. Or do you mean our instruction results? I do not believe either of us has a certification exam coming up for quite some time.” 

“No, I meant asking me to go to the bathroom with you!” Claude sighs. “If anyone asks, you were joking, okay? I’d said something cutely naive earlier that day and you were just ribbing me for it, you didn’t think anyone would take it seriously.” 

“Cutely naive?” Flayn asks. “Is that truly what you think of me?”

“It’s what everyone thinks of you, and it’s a good thing. It’ll work to our benefit.” Claude waves his hand. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a line about that before cutting you loose. You handled Lorenz pretty well. As long as you keep to that and avoid implying anything about the two of us together, I have faith in your ability to be me. But what’s your plan, anyway?”

“My plan?” Flayn is not overly given towards planning. 

“For the rest of the day. I’m going to be in here, working on switching us back.” Claude leans against his desk casually. “I assume you’ll want to...what was it you said? Go into town, get a drink?”

That does sound more fun to Flayn than hanging around the monastery, but she points at Claude accusingly. “You want me out of here so you can hide things!” 

Claude gasps. “Flayn, how could you possibly accuse me of - oh fine, of course I want you out of here so I can hide things.” He sighs. “The two of us are too alike - we’re nosy to a fault, and we can’t stand knowing about a mystery without unraveling it. But I don’t keep secrets just for fun, and I think you have your own not-fun secrets you’d rather I not poke at. So let’s make a deal not to try to sniff out each other’s secrets if we can avoid it, okay?” He sticks out his hand for her to shake.

Flayn thinks about Claude’s drawer full of secret letters and is sorely tempted to decline. But Claude’s right - she hardly wants Claude discovering anything about her nature or her true relationship to her father, and if he puts his mind to it, she’s sure he’ll uncover too much. 

The last thing Flayn wants is to have to run again, moving from place to place without friends as she has for so long. So she clasps his hand in hers.

“It’s a deal,” she says.

At the time, she even means it.


	3. Chapter 3

Flayn bursts past the Gatekeeper with a spring in her step, then turns to shout a goodbye at him without pausing.

Finally, free from Garreg Mach! She’s been out on the grounds by herself and into the town below with her father since her kidnapping, but otherwise, she’s only been away from the monastery on missions. Those are their own kind of fun, but there’s nothing quite like getting to be among average people again. 

“Hello!” She says brightly to the first shopkeeper she encounters in the village market, then to the second, and to the third. 

What will she do? She has endless possibilities and a full sack of coin at her disposal, both courtesy of Claude. Perhaps she will visit a clothing shop and try on one of the stunning, plunging gowns her father never lets her wear! Or perhaps she will merely walk around, taking in the vibrancy of the town and making new friends. There are so many places this day could take her. 

Her possibilities firm up a bit when she sees Raphael talking to one of the village tailors, a number of packages already slung over his broad shoulders. Flayn brightens, then tiptoes over to wait for the exact right moment. Raphael speaks to the tailor for a few moments more, handing over a bit of coin as he finishes his order, and then, as he turns to leave…

“UGHAAAAAR!” Flayn roars as she jumps out in front of him, a nice deep roar straight from the guts, just as Raphael demonstrated for her before!

“AGHHH!” Raphael screams back, nearly dropping his burdens, before he is able to get himself back under control. “Oh, hi Claude. That was a really big roar! Were you trying to scare me or something? ‘Cause it worked!” 

Oh, of course. Flayn forgot herself in the heat of the moment, but naturally Raphael does not do roaring practice with Claude! Claude does not seem like the kind of person who enjoys roaring. 

Flayn straightens up herself, putting a hand to her borrowed neck. Whether he would enjoy it or not, Claude could certainly use the practice - just that short bout was enough to make her feel a tickle in the back of her new throat. 

“I was not trying to frighten you,” Flayn says. “Merely to get your attention! With that accomplished, I was hoping we could…” she casts about for something normal young people do together before remembering her own suggestion to Claude that morning. “I was hoping we could get a drink together at the local public house!”

“A drink?” Raphael rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Claude...that does sound like fun, but I already used all the money the professor got me on supplies, and then on replacement supplies because I stopped and had some of our food when I got hungry carrying things around. Do you want me to ask Hilda on the way back to the monastery? I saw her at one of the shops, and I think she might like that.”

“No, no!” Flayn waves her hands, then hastily puts them back at her sides, trying to think of more Claudelike body language. “Or, rather - you are welcome to invite her along, but I was very much hoping for you to join me. It can be my treat.” She hasn’t spent any of the coin Claude gave her yet, after all, and she can think of no better use for it.

“Really?” Raphael asks. “Thanks, Claude, that’s really nice of you! Let’s go find Hilda and see if she wants to come too.” 

Hilda is over at a jewelry stall, sorting through tiny gems with a focus she rarely shows in class, but she’s happy enough to turn her gaze towards them instead as they approach. “A drink, huh?” She asks. “That’s so unlike you, Claude! You spend so much time in the library and poking your nose around the monastery. I thought you’d never come out and have some fun.” 

Oh no. Is Claude some poor, dreary bookworm who never goes out and has _fun_? When they are back in their correct bodies, Flayn will have to badger him into accepting more invitations from his friends. He’s too young to waste his life poring over manuscripts or whatever his ‘schemes’ entail!

“I wished to try something new, that’s all,” she says. “Now, let us go to the pub!” 

Raphael cheers. Hilda loops her arm around Flayn’s. 

“You’re trying all kinds of new things, aren’t you, Claude?” She asks, smiling, as they walk. “I mean, what was _with_ you in class today? Asking Flayn to come to the bathroom with you? You’re lucky Seteth wasn’t there. He would’ve fried you in a second.”

Oh dear. She hadn’t realized that had been so odd. What was it Claude had told her to say if it came up? “Flayn had said something…’cutely naive’...earlier that morning,” Flayn says. “I was teasing her for it.”

“Ohhh, that makes sense,” Hilda says, nodding. “Be more careful when you do that, will you? I thought Lorenz was going to combust. Which would’ve been pretty funny, but hard to explain.” 

Flayn frowns. ‘Cutely naive’...that _is_ what her classmates think of her! 

She will have to prove them wrong.

She starts by hopping up to the man drinking his own ale behind the bar, slapping her palms down on the counter separating them. “Three ales, please!”

“Two ales,” Hilda says, resting an arm on Flayn’s shoulder. “If you don't mind, I'd like some mead with extra honey in it, please.” 

Extra honey? Flayn swings her head around, frowning. Is that an option? Well, she will have to remember for later. For now, the bartender only looks at her from behind his mug, clearly waiting for something. 

Oh, right! Flayn digs around in her moneybelt and slams three coins onto the counter.

Hilda, Raphael, and the bartender all stare at the gold coins, then back at Flayn. 

Hilda gently grabs two of them, tucking them back in Flayn’s pouch. “Keep half the change as a tip,” she says to the bartender, who scrambles to grab it before turning away. 

Flayn ties her pouch back up as Hilda takes her seat on a barstool, kicking her legs out idly as she swings it around. “You really don’t get out much, do you, Claude?” She asks.

“I was…” Flayn casts about for a Claudelike response. “...messing with you?” 

Hilda drops her chin down onto her hand, staring at Flayn with narrowed eyes. 

Flayn stares back unblinkingly. “Is there something on my face?” 

Raphael saves her by dropping down heavily into the stool on her other side. “It’s like the first time I went shopping with Lorenz!” He says. “He tried to pay a whole crown for a banana.” 

“That sounds like Lorenz,” Hilda sighs. “Hey Claude, it’s all on you today, right?” Then, without waiting for a response, she calls to the bartender, “ooh, can we get some snacks too? Thanks!” 

The barman yells to the back of the house to get started on some food for them before returning with their beverages, sliding a row of mugs across to them. Flayn peers down at hers. The liquid inside it is...yellow.

She pokes a finger into it suspiciously, then licks it clean. It’s bitter and cold. 

But Hilda is watching her, so she picks the mug up and takes a deep gulp. 

It’s not any better like this! It feels a bit warmer on her tongue, closer to the temperature of the room than she thought, but that doesn’t improve the taste at all. Oh, how disappointing. In books, everyone seemed to enjoy sharing a drink at pubs. Is this really all it is? 

She casts a longing look at Hilda’s mug. It has an orange slice carefully wedged against the rim. “Is your drink to your taste?” She asks.

“Oh, sure.” Hilda takes a big gulp. “It’s spiced mead! Hot and sweet.”

Hot and sweet… 

Flayn takes a forlorn sip of her own bitter beverage and sighs. Would it be rude to push it aside and ask for something different? 

Raphael seems to be enjoying his own drink, anyway. Flayn looks at him as he puts his mug back on the table, wiping his mouth against his forearm. “That was great!” He says. “We should do this more often.”

Flayn carefully pushes her mug in his direction. “Would you like mine as well?” 

“Oh, thanks Claude!” He takes it as well, downing it quickly.

“Aw, but you can’t have _nothing_ ,” Hilda says, grabbing Flayn’s arm again. “Do you want some mead? Ooh, or maybe some mulled wine! You seem like a wine kind of guy.” 

Flayn does not know what makes one a wine kind of guy, but she does like the sweet wine they have sometimes at events at the church. “Yes,” she says. “That is exactly who and what I am.” 

Hilda laughs, opening up Flayn’s purse again and digging through it. Flayn had no idea that Hilda and Claude were such close friends that she’d feel comfortable doing something like that! But it serves her well, so she only gives her thanks when Hilda orders for her, asking for...glagg? 

That does not sound like a very appetizing drink name, but she chooses to trust Hilda’s judgment, as she is sure it is very sound.

The drink itself is warm and sweet under her tongue, and Flayn finds herself finishing a mug as quickly as Raphael finishes one of his. “Oh, that was much better!” She says. “Let us have another!” 

“Yes!” Raphael cheers. 

So she does! And then another.

And another.

Hilda puts a hand on top of her cup as she is about to take a sip of her fourth delectable beverage. Flayn looks over at her questioningly. “Don’t you think you’re going a little fast?” Hilda asks. “Don’t get me wrong, I know they water the wine a lot here, but you’ve obviously never gone out for a drink before.” 

Flayn shakes her head. For some reason, it feels odd, as though her head is too heavy, though Claude’s much shorter hair makes his head lighter than hers. “I am quite well!” She says. “Thank you for your concern, however.” 

The world tilts oddly as she swings her barstool to face forward, and only when she feels Raphael’s hand on her back does she realize she nearly fell over. “Claude, are you okay?” He asks. “Maybe we should go back to the monastery.”

“Nonsense!” Flayn says. “I am finally having fun!” She wobbles to her feet. “I do need to use the facilities, however. One moment!” 

She is able to find her way to the bathroom, though she is quite dizzy! Perhaps Hilda had a point. From what she has gathered, Claude is not exactly one to partake in such festivities, so his body is unaccustomed to them as her own would be. 

She sighs, slumping over the sink in the bathroom. Well...she does have one advantage that Claude himself would not have. 

She quickly whispers a Restore at herself under her breath, careful to be furtive even when alone. And just in time, because the moment her head begins to clear, she hears the door swing open.

“This room is occupied,” she says politely, turning.

“I’m aware,” Hubert says, pulling the door shut behind himself.

It’s a small bathroom; Flayn is quite thoroughly trapped between the sink and Hubert. She blinks curiously at him as he looms over her, wondering what his aim is. Is this a prank? Are he and Claude friends? 

Or perhaps...are he and Claude…

“I was surprised when one of my sources told me you were here, drinking without a care in the world,” Hubert says, crowding in closer. As there is little room to crowd, this merely means he shuffles closer to her. “I would have thought you of all people would know what could happen to people who are...careless.”

“Me of all people?” Flayn repeats, leaning backwards against the sink to put a bit of distance between them. Surely her suspicions are wrong, but then, why is Hubert so close to her?

Hubert doesn’t seem put off by her attempts to get away; if anything, his smirk sharpens. “Part of my duty to Lady Edelgard involves keeping an eye on suspicious figures such as yourself and finding out the truth about them,” he says. “You’ve wriggled out of so many delicate situations with that deft tongue of yours. Perhaps, in your current state, you will be more forthcoming.”

Oh no. Hubert is talking about _Claude’s tongue!_

Flayn was right after all. They _are_ lovers! 

Flayn can’t believe Claude didn’t warn her that some near-stranger from another class might corner her in a bathroom and try to kiss her! Though, in hindsight, that is so like Claude. He is not precisely forthcoming with details about his life. 

...which is not to say that Flayn is precisely opposed to certain parts of her current situation. It is a shame that things like this never happen to her in her own body, and also that she does not know Hubert at all, as otherwise this could be quite the adventure. But as things stand, she has no choice but to slap a hand over Hubert’s mouth to forestall the kissing attempt that is sure to come. 

Hubert rears back in an attempt to free himself, but for once the cramped quarters serve Flayn’s purpose, and she follows the motion, though she has to extend her arm all the way to do so. Hubert is quite tall. 

“Hubert,” she says, thinking quickly. How can she put him off, but only temporarily? She hardly wants to sabotage Claude’s secret relationship. “I am not interested in…‘being forthcoming’ at the moment.”

Hubert grunts something under her hand that sounds like “ _obviously_ ,” then grabs her wrist to push her away, staring at her. “You say that as though you’ll change your mind soon.”

“Yes!” Flayn agrees. “I will. In...one month.” Claude had said that they’d need to tell someone if they couldn’t figure out how to switch back before their next mission, so that will be plenty of time, even if her father or the archbishop end up having to figure out whatever strange magic Claude cast in the first place.

This doesn’t make Hubert look any happier, however. “A month,” he repeats, his grip tightening on Flayn’s wrist. “What are you planning?”

Oh, he must be so disappointed that he can’t spend time with his beloved sooner! Flayn will have to urge Claude along in his research. But she can hardly tell Hubert that if Claude himself hasn’t shared that tidbit with him. “At the moment I am planning to use the bathroom,” she says. “Could you let go of my arm please?” 

Hubert releases her, eyes narrowed. “You certainly smell as though you’ve been drinking all night, but you’re not drunk at all, are you?”

“Not one bit!” Flayn says, then uses her newly-freed arm to open the door behind Hubert. “Goodbye!”

Hubert backs out of the bathroom, still staring at her, until Flayn closes the door and cuts off his line of vision. This time, she has the presence of mind to lock it. 

“What an odd man,” Flayn mumbles to herself. Then she shrugs. Well, that can be Claude’s problem in a month!

She emerges from the bathroom to find Raphael polishing off the last of the snacks and Hilda chatting with the barman. “Hey Claude, are you feeling better?” Raphael asks.

“Yes, much,” Flayn says. Then, to the barman, “can I have another - ”

And that is all she gets to say before Hilda slaps a hand over her mouth. 

Flayn frowns down at it. How very rude! No wonder Hubert grabbed her like that. Having someone cut off her speech so physically is more vexing than she'd expected. 

“I think you’re done for today,” Hilda says. “It’s late! We should head back to the monastery.”

“Yeah,” Raphael says, scratching the back of his head. “I probably should’ve been back a couple hours ago, really...I know they say it’s fine as long as the supplies are there for breakfast, but I feel bad making someone open up the storeroom for me if it’s late.” 

Flayn shakes her head out of Hilda’s grip and squints at the nearest window. Sure enough, the sun has set already. She hadn’t even realized. She never gets to be out this late! It worries her father if she’s not home by dark. 

With a start, she realizes she never told Claude this. For all she knows, he could still be holed up in his room, working on their problem, unaware of her father’s agitation until he tears the monastery apart looking for her!

“You’re quite right,” she says. “Let us go, and quickly!” 

“I need to use the ladies’ room before we go,” she hears Hilda say behind her. “Hey Raphael, since we’re all going the same way anyway, do you think you could carry my bags?” 

But she doesn’t hear Raphael’s response as she is already hurrying away. 

She makes good time on her way back. Claude is quite good at running! But the Gatekeeper has to raise the gate to let her enter, which means it must be quite late.

She means to hurry to the student quarters. But she has hardly made it a dozen steps inside the monastery’s walls before she hears a familiar voice call out Claude’s name. 

Her father stands there, his arms crossed.

Flayn droops, then forces herself to walk over to him. Have they been discovered? Is he terribly angry with her for keeping this secret from him all day? 

“Good evening, Seteth,” she says, just in case the ruse is still in place.

And it must be, because her father would never frown at her so heavily. “Claude,” he says. “I have heard some disconcerting rumors about your conduct towards Flayn recently. What’s more, I was alarmed to hear that she was seen exiting your room this morning.” 

Who would even have told her father such a thing? Flayn frowns. She knew they’d let Sylvain walk too closely to them that morning. He’d brought misfortune to them, just as she’d suspected.

Instead of saying this, she asks, “is there something wrong with Flayn becoming better friends with her classmates?” 

“Of course not,” her father says, still frowning at her. “I merely question the suitability of some of those ‘friends.’ Flayn is so very young and innocent. I would hate for her to be led astray by untrustworthy people.”

Flayn’s hands tighten to fists at her sides. It is not as though her father has refrained from calling her innocent before, but after being called ‘cutely naive’ twice already today, she is hardly in the mood to hear it. And to call her young, when she is years - no, _centuries_ older than the man her father thinks he is lecturing! 

“I believe Flayn is old enough to lead _herself_ , if she so chooses,” Flayn says. “Must you insist on interfering with all her relationships? Is she not allowed to have _anything_ for herself?”

Her father’s face darkens. “I am her brother,” he says. “I have a duty to her. And you have only made it clear that I have every right to have such suspicions. I notice you make no attempt to defend your own reputation.” 

Flayn barely hears anything after ‘brother.’ She’s suddenly too angry to think. “I am going to ensure that Flayn has whatever experiences she wishes to have, whether you approve of them or not!” She shouts. “Good _night_ , F-- B-- Seteth!” 

She whirls away from him and runs, ignoring his angry cries behind her.

Honestly! She understands why he worries, but Claude is no Death Knight, and Seteth had hardly been beside himself with worry as he would have been if he hadn’t seen 'Flayn' all day. What does he think could have happened to her?

She flings Claude’s door open, intent on throwing herself onto the bed.

Then she stops, because Claude’s room is the most unholy mess she has ever seen.

The drawers have been ransacked, their contents spilled over the unmade bed. The desk is a mess, all of its stacks of papers disheveled. Flayn locks the door behind herself before inspecting the false bottom of the desk and discovering that its contents have vanished.

Flayn shoves a uniform set to one side to make room for herself and then sits on the bed, puzzled. 

But then she remembers something Lorenz had said in an earlier class about how Claude never lets anyone into his room, and how messy Claude’s workspace can get in class when he is too focused on one task, and puts her hand over her eyes.

Here she is, somehow in the body of a young man who never goes out for a drink with his friends, doesn’t have a single book of romance in his entire collection of boring treatises on the properties of herbs, and who does a terrible job of keeping his room in order, and she’s angry because her father stopped to yell at her. 

Really, she should be worried about Claude. A full day with her father hovering over his shoulder, noting his every deviation from Flayn’s usual behavior…. Flayn knows Claude is passable when it comes to lying, but she has caught him out once or twice without too much effort. She hopes he is secretly much better at it than he lets on.


	4. Chapter 4

“...and that is why, no matter the cost, you _must_ stay away from Claude von Riegan!” 

Claude sticks his fork into another pickled carrot, eyes wide. 

Okay, he might be overselling the shocked and naive expression. It helps that it’s a little genuine. What did Flayn _do_ yesterday, tell Seteth they were going to elope while twirling a fake mustache and cackling?

“Do you disapprove of our group project, Brother?” He asks, then forces himself to pop a forkful of food into his mouth and chew without letting his disgust show. It doesn’t even taste bad, courtesy of Flayn’s oddball body, but the texture of pickled vegetables and fish first thing in the morning is revolting. He has no idea how Flayn can stand the stuff, but Seteth served it to him, so it must be something he knows she likes. 

“I will talk to your professor and make sure you are assigned to another group,” Seteth says. He reaches his hand across the table, palm up. 

Claude’s instincts scream “trap,” but Seteth’s not one of _his_ brothers, so he obediently puts his hand in Seteth’s and doesn’t start checking for a knife when Seteth squeezes it. 

“I will ensure that you do not suffer because of this, but I cannot bear the thought of you around that young man any longer. He seeks to corrupt you.”

How is Claude supposed to resist when Seteth gives him an opening like that? “Like Sylvain?” He asks innocently. He figures it’d be more like Flayn to get mad and declare that Seteth can’t rule her life, but he doesn’t need the added scrutiny. Besides, this is more fun.

“Even worse than Sylvain,” Seteth says gravely. “His chaos is more...generalized. Claude seems to have developed a fixation on you specifically.” 

Forget twirling a mustache; Flayn must have said something technically true but extremely misleading about having seen herself naked before or something. He'd admire her knack for it if he wasn't so sure she'd done it entirely by accident. “Wow,” Claude says breathlessly, resisting the urge to wriggle his hand out of Seteth’s grip. Do other families really touch each other this much? It’s weird.

“I am so sorry that your time at the monastery has been plagued by people who seek to do you ill. Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision to bring you here instead of building a new life elsewhere.”

“Oh, but brother, I love it here!” Claude cries out. “I have truly benefited from the professor’s instruction.” What’s something else Flayn would realistically say that Seteth would like that also probably won’t run into a secret Claude doesn’t know well enough to bluff his way around? “And it has been so wonderful spending time with other young people. I would hate to leave just because Claude joked with you at the wrong moment.” 

“It was no joke!” 

Wow, tough crowd. “Be that as it may, he is a single individual, and easy enough to avoid.” 

Seteth relaxes and finally lets go of Claude’s hand. Claude busies himself with his breakfast again to have an excuse to avoid any further touching. He diligently swallows another mouthful of cold, slimy fish under Seteth’s extremely focused gaze. 

“My dear, beloved sister,” Seteth says, and then pauses. “Did I oversalt the fish? You’re eating so slowly.” 

“No, it is perfect,” Claude says.

“Would you like me to make you something else? I have an extra herring I could grill for you. I could add some cabbage, if you’d like.” Seteth actually looks distressed, like the idea of Flayn not enjoying every aspect of her breakfast is some kind of terrible error that needs correcting. 

Claude stabs another pickled turnip (seriously, why?) and resigns himself to eating faster. “I am merely savoring the food,” he says, and shoves the entire piece in his mouth. 

Seteth keeps watching him like Claude's dietary habits are a matter of life or death. Claude makes sure to chew a normal amount before swallowing. He’s had some diligent servants in his life, but none of them could compare to this level of attention unless they were being bribed to poison him. Is Holst like this with Hilda? Maybe siblings in Fodlan are just strange. Or maybe this is another clue to file away.

“As I was saying,” Seteth continues while Claude spears another bit of fish and thinks wistfully of feasts. A whole lamb, stuffed with rice...chicken heart skewers...cream cakes…anything but what’s actually in his mouth. “You are so very precious to me, Flayn. I could not bear it if any more harm befell you. Please promise me you will keep a distance from Claude von Riegan, along with the other students I have already asked you to stay away from.” 

“Of course, brother!” Claude chirps, smiling widely around a mouthful of sour fish.

Seteth insists on walking him to class, so Claude only has a few seconds to snag Teach before the lesson begins. “Professor, could I please be assigned to stable duty today?” He asks, eyes wide. “I would very much like to gain more familiarity with horses.” Also, Teach has had Claude - in his own body - on stable duty all week while swapping out his partners, so it’ll give him a great opportunity to talk to Flayn privately. He’s pretty sure Seteth is going to keep hovering and make it impossible to get to her otherwise. 

Teach’s eyes bore into him. “No,” she says, then walks to the front of the class. 

So no one is feeling like giving Claude a break today. Typical. He makes his way to Flayn’s usual seat, already scheming a way around this. Teach had Marianne with him on stable duty the day before yesterday, and then yesterday he’s pretty sure Flayn forgot about chores and didn’t show up at all. He scans the classroom, eyes lingering on the back of Flayn’s head where she’s talking about something with Raphael in the row before his. No one’s come up to Flayn to complain about her ditching, so that means…

Claude twists around and waves to catch Hilda’s eye. “Hilda, did you have stable duty yesterday?” 

“Well, I was _assigned_ to stable duty yesterday,” Hilda says, resting her cheek on her knuckles. “But this really nice monk offered to take over for me, and I thought, why not let someone who really _wants_ to do it have a turn?” 

“Of course,” Claude says. “How generous of you!” He barely has to try to make that sound sincere. Flayn’s voice just tends towards genuineness all on its own. He has to figure out how to copy that trick once he’s back in his own body. 

No one complained about Flayn ditching because no one _noticed_ her ditching. Well, that will save Claude a little trouble once they get swapped back. And that helps Claude identify the pattern Teach is using to assign chores. Raphael almost always pulls weeding duty, so that means the person who will be on stable duty with Flayn is probably Ignatz. 

Claude turns to look at Ignatz. Sensing the scrutiny, Ignatz looks up and shoots Claude a heartfelt smile in response, not even ducking into his shoulders bashfully as he does it.

Okay, so Ignatz and Flayn are on good terms. It’ll be a piece of cake to pull a reverse Hilda here. 

He makes his way through lessons the same way he did yesterday - paying the closest attention possible in the hopes that Flayn’s hands will write something without his input. He’d known scribes in Almyra who swore by the practice of automatic writing, though Claude unfortunately never picked up the trick. But he’s curious about what might come out of his quill if he manages it. Flayn’s handwriting in the script of Fodlan is so close to second nature that Claude almost didn’t notice that her hand sometimes seems to want to make strange shapes not found in the Fodlan alphabet. Of course, since he _did_ notice, he’s far too nosy to let it go.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be working. Claude mostly writes the word “the” a lot. And - he squints at the page - a lot of meaningless loops in a row? 

Okay, maybe hoping to pick up automatic writing in a couple days was aiming too high. 

He suffers through individual instruction. Teach asks him questions about brawling today, which is just kind of weird. Normally he’d suspect she’s onto him, but that’s not his specialty _or_ Flayn’s specialty. 

Well, Teach’s methods are a mystery. It’s one of the reasons he likes her - she’s always doing something unexpected. 

When they’re finally freed for lunchtime, Claude snags Ignatz at the door. “Oh, Ignatz!” He says, Flayn’s most charming smile on his face. (He practiced a long time in the mirror last night. It’s not like he had anything better to do once Seteth all but abducted him from the student quarters.) 

“Oh, hello Flayn,” Ignatz says, adjusting his glasses. “Are you going to the dining hall for lunch?”

“I will be eating lunch with my brother today,” he says. It’s not something he actually discussed with Seteth, but given that Seteth is currently living in a state of mortal terror over Flayn’s virtue, Claude thinks it’s unlikely he’s going to get to eat a meal with another student until he gets back into his own body. “I was wondering if I could perhaps ask you a favor?”

“Of course!” Ignatz says.

“My brother has been so diligent in watching over me lately,” Claude says. ‘Diligent’ is another word for ‘obsessive,’ right? “I wish to do something for him in return, especially as it is a special day for him. Perhaps to make him a small charm or something similar. But I know if I went to the village, he would merely worry more. Do you think perhaps you can find some seaglass for me in the market today? There is no one else who I would entrust this task to. You have that artist’s eye for discovering just the right pieces.” 

Ignatz actually blushes at that. If Claude wasn’t playing Flayn’s part, he’d sigh and shake his head. How does Ignatz survive in a class like Hilda when he’s so easy to lead around?

“You can count on me!” Ignatz says, smiling. “Oh, look, there’s Seteth now. Hello, Seteth!”

Seteth’s hand drops on Claude’s shoulder from behind. “Hello, Ignatz,” Seteth says. “I trust you are making the most of your class time.” 

The implied threat in his voice seems to go entirely over Ignatz’s head as he nods. “Of course! In fact, I better go to lunch quickly to make sure I have plenty of time to get back. Bye, Flayn! Bye, Seteth!” 

“Brother,” Claude asks, injecting some exasperation into his voice as Ignatz turns away from them, “must you interfere with all my friendships? Ignatz merely wished to speak about class.”

Seteth sighs. “I apologize, Flayn. I do not wish to be overbearing. Perhaps next time Ignatz could join us for lunch?”

Where Seteth could monitor his every word, of course. “Perhaps,” Claude says, still sounding a little displeased.

Predictably, Seteth falls all over himself at that. “I do not wish for you to be upset,” he says. “Is there anything I can do to make your time more enjoyable?” 

Claude entertains a quick fantasy of asking Seteth for a fleet of wyverns. Seteth would probably actually get them. “Could we eat with the archbishop?” He asks instead.

This seems more difficult than a wyvern fleet might be. Seteth hesitates. “With Rhea?” He asks. “She is very busy these days, with her...plans.” 

Claude barely manages to keep himself from drooling. Seteth obviously knows _something_ about those plans...maybe if he can get Seteth and Rhea talking about them in front of him…

It’s risky, of course. He doesn’t know anything about Flayn and Rhea’s relationship. If he doesn’t step carefully, this could end pretty badly for him. But hey, what’s life without a little risk? “Please, Brother?” He asks, letting his lower lip stick out. “It has been so long since we three last ate together…”

Seteth predictably softens. “Very well. Let us ask Rhea if she has time to spare for lunch.” 

He keeps his hand on Claude’s shoulder as he steers him around. It’s actually pretty helpful, since Claude has no idea where they’re going. He’s tried to keep up with the movements of all the people in the monastery, but Rhea is as mysterious as she is elusive. 

Seteth knows what he’s doing, though; they cross into the main building of the monastery, past some knights who nod at them, and up a flight of steps into a large chamber, where Rhea sits behind a long desk made of a single piece of polished wood carved into an oval. She looks slightly less serene and otherworldly than usual as she does some paperwork, especially with the inkstains Claude notices smeared on her fingers where she probably overinked her quill, and practically normal when she looks up at them in surprise and relief. “Flayn and I were wondering if you would join us for lunch,” Seteth says.

Rhea smiles. “I’d be delighted.”

Claude is about as delighted when, instead of going anywhere, Rhea just rings a bell for a servant to clear off the desk and bring in some food. He looks down at all the papers, wondering if he could snag some without being too obvious. Flayn’s sleeves and dress are weirdly voluminous; he could probably stuff a whole sheaf down the top of Flayn’s stockings without anyone being the wiser. 

But Rhea’s staring directly at him, gaze piercing, so for the moment discretion is definitely the greater part of valor. He pastes a sweet smile on his face, and Rhea smiles back.

“Are you enjoying your time as a student here, Flayn?” She asks as someone else opens the door. Instead of the previous servants, it’s Cyril, hands flat under a tray that’s a lot wider than he is. 

“Oh, very much so!” Claude says, smiling at Cyril. Unfortunately, Cyril’s eyes are fixed on Rhea, so that’s ineffective as a method for figuring out how well Cyril and Flayn know each other. “Hello, Cyril!” He chirps. That seems safe enough. 

“Hey, Flayn,” Cyril mutters, only looking away from Rhea long enough to set the tray on the desk without spilling anything before his eyes find her again. Claude might as well not exist. He’s a little tempted to wave a hand in front of Cyril’s face. _Hello, ‘Flayn’ to Cyril, come in, Cyril…_

“Thank you, Cyril,” Rhea says, at which point Cyril’s attention on her gets so rapt that it would be impressive if it weren’t creepy. “Have you eaten yet? I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

Cyril blushes. “Thanks, Lady Rhea. I ate right before I started my chores. I’ll be fine until dinnertime.” 

“Please don’t feel you must work until dinnertime if you are tired,” Seteth says. Claude takes advantage of his momentary inattention to peek at the few papers remaining on the desk, helpfully pushed all the way to the edge to his right. “The archbishop is correct. You should take breaks whenever you feel the need.” 

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Cyril says. Claude squints at the pages. Luckily he’s an expert at reading upside-down. Plans for the rededication of the Western Church? “I’ve got a lot to do, though.”

“Of course,” Rhea says. “Thank you for taking the time to help us, Cyril.”

Cyril must bow or something, because the next thing Claude hears is the door closing. He barely pays attention, still scanning the pages in front of him as subtly as he can. He’s glad he didn’t bother stuffing any under his dress, because they’re all _boring_. It’s worse than the library after Seteth finishes a round of pruning. Is it too much to ask for Rhea to leave out something juicy? 

It’s enough of a disappointment that Claude doesn’t mind zeroing back in on Seteth as he hands him a bowl. He minds it even less when he realizes it’s Daphnel stew, one of his favorites - at least, on this continent. Eating it always reminds him of Judith’s mealtime interrogations.

Then Claude takes a bite and realizes he’s still cursed with Flayn’s taste buds. Ugh. It tastes like nothing somehow. This whole body-swapping thing is teaching him a lot about the individuality of human - or ‘human’ - taste.

“Cyril regards you so highly,” Seteth says, taking his own bowl. “I believe if you told him you wanted the moon he would find a way to haul it down for you.” 

“He likely would.” Rhea sighs, stretching her arms out in front of her. Flayn does the same thing sometimes; Claude wonders if she got the habit from Rhea. “I meant it when I said I hoped he wasn’t overworking himself. I have high hopes for Cyril.” 

Sinister hopes? Is she going to use him in some kind of experiment?

“I believe one day he could be a great leader. He is so hardworking, and the other children listen to him. I believe he would make a great asset anywhere, whether he chooses to stay with the church or go elsewhere.”

Okay, boring hopes.

Not that Claude wants Rhea to have evil plans for Cyril. It would just be convenient if he served as a segue into a nice monologue about her plans in general.

He shovels another mouthful of his weirdly bland stew into his mouth, aware of Seteth at his side. If Claude’s insufficiently enthusiastic about his meal, he’s sure Seteth will make poor Cyril fetch him something else. The extent Seteth hovers is something else. 

“I agree that Cyril has potential,” Seteth says. “Have you talked to Shamir about encouraging him to join a class?” 

“Yes. Shamir has agreed that he’d be a good fit for the Golden Deer.” Rhea smiles at Claude. “I am sure Flayn will make him feel welcome.”

Claude waits a beat, but Seteth doesn’t start sputtering at the idea of Flayn near another person. Maybe his overprotectiveness has an age limit - _must be 15 years or older to be a threat to my sister_. “Of course I will!” Claude says brightly. “I would be most excited to have Cyril join our class. I believe he will enjoy it.” 

“You are putting the safety and growth of so many of our young students in the hands of the professor,” Seteth says. “You seem to have incredible faith in her.” 

Rhea shrugs carelessly. “She has proven herself, has she not?” 

Claude slurps his stew, watching the two of them together. They’re a lot more chummy than they are in other settings, but that’s the only change. Well, the possibility that Rhea is secretly Seteth and Flayn’s mother was always a long shot, so he doesn’t feel bad crossing that one off his mental list. 

Most of his possibilities are long shots. But this is an opportunity he’s unlikely to have again, so he chooses to strike while the iron is hot. “Rhea,” he says, “after so long in the professor’s class, I must ask...is she like us?” 

Seteth and Rhea both tense. Claude works hard not to. This is a gamble, possibly the biggest one he’s played since he came to Fodlan, but he feels pretty good about the odds. As long as Flayn hasn’t asked this question before, he’s probably safe.

She must not have, because Rhea recovers quickly. “Not yet,” she says, “but perhaps...soon.” 

“Rhea,” Seteth says quietly. A warning of some kind, Claude thinks.

Rhea merely nods and sips her stew elegantly, holding her spoon between two fingers. “Many things are uncertain now. But I believe, with just a little more time…. Well. Seteth, you’ve been organizing the monks for an additional choir, have you not? How has that been? I trust you have not managed to shatter a window this time around.” 

“That happened centuries ago!” Seteth protests. “...speaking figuratively, of course. But several of the monks have better voices than they have been given credit for.” 

Claude keeps eating mechanically and listening with one ear, trying to absorb what he’s learned. Teach can _become_ one of them? What are they, vampires? (Does Fodlan even have vampires?) 

Lunch seems to go too fast after that. Claude smiles and nods and sips at all the appropriate places, and then before he knows it all their bowls are empty and they’re standing to leave. 

“Flayn,” Rhea says, her fingers steepled together. Claude looks at her questioningly. “You know better than most that there are still those who seek to do us harm, even after all these years. They are experts at disguising themselves. I would advise you not to speak of anything secret with anyone, even those you trust, without verifying their identities first. They could take the place of anyone, even your brother or yourself.” 

Claude manages not to freeze, but only barely. That feels pointed. Does Rhea _know_?

“I would advise you to be careful in all things,” Rhea continues, then smiles at Claude.

Claude somehow manages a smile in return and a normal walking pace out of there. His back starts itching the moment he turns it towards Rhea, but Rhea doesn’t shout for the knights to come haul him away. Nader always told him a victory was any battle you walked away from, so he’s choosing to count this as a success. 

“Since your classes are shorter in the afternoon, would you like to go fishing after?” Seteth asks, curling his hand loosely over Claude’s shoulder as they walk. “It’s been a few days since it last rained, so the Caledonian Gar will likely be gathering near the surface.” 

“I have stable duty after class,” Claude says, smiling sweetly at all the monks and bishops they pass to soothe his own nerves. They all smile back. Yes, Flayn disguise intact, at least to everyone except possibly the archbishop, who doesn't seem inclined to do anything about it.

“I hope your professor isn’t overworking you,” Seteth says. “If you’re having any difficulties, you can always come to me.” 

“It is important that I be treated like any other student,” Claude says, using the steps leading to the classroom as an excuse to duck out from under Seteth’s hand. “Goodbye, Brother. I will see you at dinnertime.” 

“I will meet you at the stables with arms full of fish,” Seteth promises before turning to leave. 

It ends up being perfect timing, because Claude barely manages to get in the door before Ignatz accosts him. “Flayn, I’m so sorry,” he says, twisting his hands. “I thought I’d have plenty of time today, but it turns out the professor has assigned me to stable duty. I don’t think I’ll be able to get the glass to you before sunset today.” 

“Oh,” Claude says, frowning. “But I wanted so badly to do something nice for my brother…” He blinks rapidly, just enough to give the impression he might cry. Ignatz’s horrified expression in response is nearly enough to make him burst out laughing instead, so he hurries on. “I have an idea! What if I took over your chore? Then you would have plenty of time to go to the village.” 

“I couldn’t let you do that! I don’t want to make you do more work.” 

“No, no, I insist.” Claude flaps his hands and puts on Flayn’s bossiest tone. “I am the one who asked this favor of you, so it would only be fair. Besides, you deserve time away from the monastery as much as anyone else.”

“If you’re sure…” Ignatz bites his lip. “That’s so generous of you, Flayn. You really are like the Goddess herself.” Then he blushes. “I don’t mean - I just meant - ”

Claude lets him suffer for a second longer before putting him out of his misery. “What a kind compliment,” he says, beaming. “Thank you, Ignatz. I look forward to seeing you and my delivery later today. But please be discreet! Perhaps you can leave it in my desk on your way back to your quarters? It would make a poor surprise for my brother if he knew he was to receive a gift.” 

“Of course!” Ignatz bows. “I’ll be subtle.” 

If Ignatz knows how to be subtle, Claude will eat one of Flayn’s giant ribbon bows. But he smiles pleasantly and takes Flayn’s seat before lessons pick up again, feeling much more confident in his scheming powers than he did a few minutes ago. 

Luckily, they pass faster this time. It’s easier when he can just watch everyone else’s individual instructions. Lorenz looks especially smug to get something perfectly right, while Leonie takes her own victories with more grace.

Finally, class ends, and he can snag Flayn before she makes her way out the door. “I believe we are on stable duty together,” he says, twirling the hem of his dress with one hand. “Would you like to walk together and begin quickly?”

Flayn mouths the words _stable duty_ like they’re entirely unfamiliar to her. Come to think of it, Claude’s never shared a chore rotation with her before. Does Teach not give her chores? That seems unfair to poor Flayn, who could probably use every opportunity she can get to get out from under Seteth's thumb. When Claude’s back in his own body he’s going to have to start a petition or something. 

“Yes,” Flayn says finally. “Let us walk together! To...stable duty.” 

“Wonderful!” Claude says, clapping his hands. “Shall we?” 

They’re barely out of the classroom when Flayn says, “why did you not tell me about - ”

“I do not know what you mean, Claude,” Claude says blithely. “I cannot think of anything I could tell you that you would like to know. Unless you would like me to tell you about fish?”

Flayn pouts. “I have other interests,” she mutters, but she seems to get the drift and doesn’t say anything revealing the whole walk to the stables. 

Claude does a quick check around just in case Linhardt is sleeping in a pile of hay or Lysithea has decided this is a good location to secretly stuff her face. But no, the stables are empty, save for the half-dozen big, broad horses nosing at their feed or scraping their mouths against their stall walls, leaving giant globs of saliva splattered amidst the dust and the horse poop. 

Flayn doesn’t seem to notice the mess, standing on tiptoe in front of a big dun destrier and offering it her fingers. “Hey - ” Claude starts, alarmed. “Careful with those, okay? Remember those are my fingers you’re offering up to get bitten clean off if he gets testy.” 

Luckily, the horse only snorts and allows Flayn to pet his quivering nose, but she shoots him an annoyed look as if he doesn’t have a very good point. “Ah, now we are permitted to speak on the matter?” 

“Now that we’re alone, sure,” Claude says. “Hey, you’ll muck out that big guy’s stall, won’t you? Since you want to experience normal life and all.” 

“There are six horses, are there not?” Flayn asks. “Let us each…‘muck out’...three stalls.” She keeps petting the horse, fingers tangling in his coarse mane as he shoves his head farther down. The horse flexes his long neck and mouths over Flayn’s uniform shirt, searching for treats and inevitably leaving streaks of filth behind. Well, it’s not like Flayn being in his body was ever going to be good for his reputation.

Claude opens the wooden half-door to the stall directly to the right of Flayn’s chosen target, swinging the creaky door shut quickly once he scoots inside. He immediately runs into the warm, smelly shoulder of the dapple grey mare who lives there. She gives him an extremely unimpressed look and refuses to move over to let him in until he puts his shoulder into her side and pushes. 

Claude sighs. The horses at Garreg Mach are about as helpful as the people. But he manages to make enough room to start shoveling, so he talks as he works. “I just wanted to let you know that I think I’ll be able to swap us back by tomorrow night,” he says. “We both need to be asleep for it to take effect, so try not to get up in the middle of the night if you can help it.” 

He’s pretty sure that’s what changed it from a simple eavesdropping spell to a body-swap spell, anyway. Next time he’ll have to make sure to time-limit it. And pick a test target with fewer obvious secrets. He bets Ignatz doesn't have any special powers that might mess with a harmless little surveillance spell.

“So soon?” Flayn asks, her own shovel scraping against the stable floor. “I had hoped to have more time...I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Are you having that much fun being me?” Claude gasps theatrically. “All this time, Lorenz has been after me, but you’re the one with the real ambitions for leading the Alliance!” 

Flayn sighs. “In truth, I most enjoy the independence,” she says. “My brother means well, but he can be quite overbearing.”

“It’s nice to figure things out on your own once in a while,” Claude agrees, bending down to shovel some more dirty hay. Only he doesn’t get all the way there, because a tug on his hair jerks him upright. 

He looks up, only to see one of Flayn’s big, dangling curls stretching up from his head to the mare’s mouth, the other end of it sticking out from between her teeth as she chews lackadaisically. 

“Uh, Flayn? Could you give me a little help please?”

“What is causing you trouble?” Flayn asks, and then Claude hears the stall door open up again. “Oh no, my _hair_!”

Claude stays very still as, with gentle tugs and a lot of pleading, Flayn manages to work the hair free from the horse’s mouth. Though this doesn’t free Claude from Flayn herself, who keeps staring mournfully at the chewed-up ends of the hair in her hand even as they make a quick exit of the stall together, refusing to let go.

This really is not going to help convince Seteth of the purity of Claude’s intentions towards Flayn. Claude mentally discards the possibility of ever spending time with Flayn once he’s back in his own body and says, “it’s not so bad, right? I’ll just wash it and comb it.”

Flayn’s grip tightens on the gnawed, frayed curl. “No, that’s quite alright!” She says. “Perhaps we should cut it. You keep a knife on your person, do you not?”

Claude’s actually tucked a knife up each of Flayn’s voluminous sleeves and another in her shoe, but he tries to jerk out of her grip as she starts patting him down. “How about you cut it once you’re back in your own body?” He says, trying to strain away. “You know, the body where you’re actually used to using knives?” 

“No, no!” Flayn’s voice goes up a pitch. “It will be fine, there’s no need for you to touch it - let me just - ”

She keeps pulling on the hair and Claude keeps pulling useless back in the world’s most demented game of tug of war. Flayn’s iron grip on the hair ensures that Claude will have to rip half of it out of his borrowed head if he wants out. 

He files that one as plan B and goes for something a little subtler first. “Flayn, I already know about your ears.” 

Flayn freezes up. Okay, maybe hair-ripping would have been less of a shock to her. “ _How?_ ” She hisses, still pulling on Claude’s head. He’s definitely going to have a headache tonight.

Claude opens his mouth to say something about them being attached to the head he’s currently inside, but that’s when Seteth rounds the corner, arms actually loaded up with fish, though it's nowhere near dinnertime.

Seteth takes one look at Flayn-as-Claude, whose hand is frozen mid-yank where she has Claude-as-Flayn by the hair while her other hand grips the side of Claude’s dress in search of knives, and drops the fish. 

The silvery bodies bounce across the floor, sliding on their own slime under stall doors or settling limply on the stable floor. 

“ _Unhand her_ ,” Seteth snarls, hands rising in preparation for some arcane spell. 

“F--Seteth, it’s not what you think!” Flayn cries, finally letting go of Claude.

“For the love of - don’t argue, run!” Claude tells her, then uses his newfound freedom to throw himself on Seteth. 

Seteth catches him and swings him around, dropping him neatly on his feet behind Seteth. It’s a neat trick. Claude wonders if he and Flayn practice this kind of thing or if Seteth practices it alone in front of a mirror in his bedroom. “Stay here, Flayn,” Seteth says, reaching back to squeeze Claude’s hand. “I will deal with this villain.” 

Claude clings to Seteth’s hand, refusing to give it back even when Seteth starts to jerk forward, radiating murder. “But Brother!" Claude shouts, thinking quickly. He's definitely picking Ignatz next time. _Ignatz_ wouldn't provoke anyone to murder him in Claude's body, dooming Claude to be tiny and green-haired forever. You can’t harm a horse! I won’t allow it!” 

“I understand you wish to protect all - ” Seteth pauses. “A horse?” 

“The horse that Claude rescued me from,” Claude specifies. “Oh, Brother, you cannot do it harm! It is merely an animal. It did not realize its wrongdoing.”

Seteth turns to look at him, mouth open in confusion. A fish squishes under his foot. “Claude was accosting you,” he says.

“Claude was helping me!” Claude says. “He heard my shout of terror and rescued me from the horse. I was so shaken that I could not respond when he asked me if I was otherwise injured, so he began checking me for serious injury to see if I could be transported to the infirmary.” 

Torn, Seteth looks back in the direction Flayn had run off in. “...as long as you are sure,” he finally says, though Claude’s sure Seteth will be upping his protection detail. It’s the best outcome Claude could hope for, given that Seteth had looked ready to hunt Flayn for sport a second ago. 

Claude squeezes Seteth’s hand to distract him. “You will help me fix my hair, will you not?” 

The last of the darkness fades from Seteth’s face as he brings his free hand to the torn curl. “Of course, my dear little sister,” he says, touching the side of Claude’s face gently. 

Claude smiles up at him and resigns himself to a whole night wasted on makeovers.

Flayn better enjoy her day of freedom, because Claude has the feeling it's the last one she's going to get in quite some time.


	5. Chapter 5

Flayn is hardly able to sleep that night, so overcome is she with worry about the state of her poor head. Her mood hardly improves when she arrives to class and Claude doesn’t. 

“She’s not sick or something, is she?” Leonie asks, leaning back in her chair to follow Flayn’s gaze. 

“No,” Flayn says darkly. “No illness did this.” 

Ignatz twists his hands in worry as he hovers over Flayn’s empty seat. “Oh, she didn’t even have time to pick up the sea glass I got her! I hope she’s okay.”

Sea glass? Does Claude think her father will be won over by such trifles? Flayn shakes her head sadly. Claude really has no idea how to influence others. She will have to give him lessons once they are back in their own bodies, assuming she can untangle herself from the trap of her father’s overprotectiveness sometime this century.

“Professor, do you know where Flayn is?” Hilda calls as Byleth closes the door behind herself, indicating class is about to start. 

“There was an accident at the stables,” Byleth says. “She’s recovering.” 

“They weren’t able to heal her?” Ignatz gasps, at the same time that Leonie mutters, “is _that_ why the stables smelled so bad this morning?”

Flayn crosses her arms. Recovering! If her father has his way, she’ll be in ‘recovery’ for so long that she’ll miss the ball!

She sulks through the lessons, taking it with particularly ill grace when Byleth calls her up for instruction and asks her about lances of all things. “That is not even Cl - my specialty,” Flayn complains, slumping against the blackboard as she gets a question wrong for the third time in a row.

The professor just stares back at her for a moment, then continues. “When using a lance on horseback - ”

So her final day in Claude’s body is shaping up rather poorly. Once she is freed from the professor’s evil clutches and allowed to sink into her seat, she starts doodling with great vengeance. This will likely be her last day of freedom for quite some time, too. And it is being wasted in this fashion?

It cannot stand. So when Leonie vaults over their table for her own instruction, Flayn turns around to wave at Hilda, who looks half-asleep. “Hilda! Hilda!” 

“You’re supposed to cheer it,” Hilda mumbles, shaking herself awake. “What’s up, Claude?”

“After class, would you like to go shopping together?” Flayn asks, leaning her chin on her hand where it rests against the back of her chair. “I am in need of your expertise, as I would like to purchase something I do not usually get to wear.” 

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up, but she smiles. “Sure, why not! In fact, why not make it a group outing? Hey, Marianne...” 

The rest of class time goes by a bit faster after that, at least. Though the only thing Flayn gets down on her notepad the whole time is a scratchy little drawing of a girl stuck at the top of a tower, sighing as a creature that is certainly not a dragon circles down below, stopping all from getting near. Flayn folds it neatly and puts it in her pocket. 

“Hey, Claude,” Hilda says, pink pigtails bouncing after her and streaming over her shoulders. “Ready to go? Lysithea sure is!” 

In fact, Lysithea is tugging ineffectually at the hand Hilda has wrapped around her wrist, her other hand raised in casting position as though she is seriously considering whether this occasion calls for some Dark Spikes. “I’m _busy_. I don’t have time to shop for whatever useless frivolities Claude has in mind.” 

Flayn frowns. “There is nothing useless about having fun,” she says. “It should not take very long! I will purchase you a cake of your choosing after.”

Lysithea stops struggling. “A cake of my choosing? A whole cake?” 

“Whichever you’d like,” Flayn says, preening a bit at the companionable wink Hilda shoots her over Lysithea’s head. Flayn truly is an expert at the art of influencing people! If only Claude were here to learn from her example.

“Um…” Marianne says quietly. She’s still in her seat, head bowed low enough that Flayn hadn’t even noticed she was still there. “Maybe you should go without me…” 

“Aww, but Marianne!” Hilda whines. “If you really don’t want to, you don’t _have_ to, but…”

Lysithea glares at her. “If I’m going to get dragged into whatever ridiculous venture Claude has planned, then so are you!” 

Flayn watches in fascination. It is so heartening to see the strong friendships between her classmates!

She leads the way out of the classroom as Hilda loops one of her arms around one of Lysithea’s and the other around one of Marianne’s. “This won’t stop me from leaving if it takes too long,” she hears Lysithea grumble behind her. “I know Warp.” 

But out in the sunlight it is impossible to feel anything but cheerful. The early winter wind lends a crispness to the air, but no snow falls and the walkway remains clear under their feet, the quiet echo of the stone beneath their boots mingling with Hilda’s bright chatter and Lysithea’s snappier responses. There is a moment after they cross the main gate where the whole town below suddenly sprawls out in their view, the tightly-crowded houses and dotted lights and bustling people below all revealed to them, and Flayn pauses to take it all in.

“Claude!” Lysithea shouts. “Don’t just stand there. We have places to be!” 

“Give him a second! You’ll get your cake either way.”

“Hilda, is it truly necessary for you to constantly - don’t tickle me, I’m not a child!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Flayn sees Marianne hesitantly come up beside her, staring out at the town as well. “I like the view from here, too,” Marianne says. “It’s nice to stand quietly where I can’t bother anyone.” 

With her head tilted forward, it’s hard to see her face past the long, messy strands of hair that curl over her ears. But Flayn thinks she sees something anyway.

“Marianne,” she says, “you’re smiling!” 

“O-oh.” Marianne reaches a hand up to her mouth like she hadn’t noticed before. “I’m sorry…” 

“Whatever for?” Flayn asks, puzzled. 

But Marianne just turns away and keeps walking, staying a few steps behind Hilda and Lysithea. 

How odd. Flayn will have to buy her a cake of her own as well. This excursion is meant to be enjoyable for all! 

The town seems just as busy up close, though the townspeople are followed around by clouds of their own breath, and Flayn sees more than one brightly-colored scarf tucked into the neck of a surcoat. She realizes with a start that she is shivering as well. How odd; Claude’s cold tolerance must be much worse than her own.

“Was there somewhere in particular you wanted to start, Claude?” Hilda asks, surveying the town with a sharp eye. “I’ve got every shop in town memorized, so leave it to ol’ Hilda to guide you.” 

Flayn beams. Finally, the moment she has been anticipating for so long has arrived. “I would like to go to the finest dressmaker there is!” 

“What,” Lysithea says. 

Hilda taps her chin. “Well, the finest dressmaker there is lives in Goneril...but I can think of someone who’s almost as good!” 

She tugs Lysithea along, ignoring her mutters of, “I thought we were going to buy poisonous mushrooms or something.” 

The shop Hilda leads them to is charmingly small, its thick wooden door so warped with age that Hilda needs to put a bit of her prodigious strength behind it as she pushes it open. But the shop is beautiful inside, filled with stuffed-straw mannequins displaying fashions unlike any Flayn has ever seen before. 

Flayn flutters from one part of the shop to the next, eyes wide. There is so much to choose from! Elegant ballgowns with trains that sweep down the floor, thick winter dresses with high collars, luxurious silk pieces with flowing ribbons…

“Oh, Lysithea, you’ve got to try this one on,” Hilda says, gesturing at a pink dress with a voluminous skirt. “You’d look just like a cupcake in it!” 

“Is that supposed to convince me?”

Ah, there! Flayn picks up a mannequin wearing a blue dress and tucks it under her arm. “Would you like to try something on?” She asks Marianne, who is still standing in the corner, gaze downcast.

“Um, no…” Marianne curls in on herself. “I’m fine.”

Flayn frowns, but turns to the dressmaker next. “Could I try this garment on?” 

The dressmaker, a short woman with deep wrinkles at her forehead and eyes, looks from the mannequin to Flayn and back to the mannequin. “If you buy it first, you can try it on and I can alter it for you.”

Flayn almost agrees before she realizes the dressmaker means that it will be altered to fit _Claude_. How bothersome. “I’ll purchase it now and bring it back to have it altered another day,” she says. Whatever Claude has done, Flayn is certain she can find a way to get herself out of house arrest before the end of the year, or the end of the decade at the very latest.

The dressmaker has small, confident hands; she quickly removes Flayn’s new purchase from the mannequin, folding it in sweeping, practiced motions before handing it over.

Flayn hands over her gold - and the correct amount, this time - while Hilda keeps badgering Lysithea. “You’ll look so elegant in it!” She insists. “So adult and ladylike! Come on, Claude, back me up here.” 

Flayn looks over her shoulder, where Hilda is holding the dress aloft by its puffy sleeves, its ribbons hanging down limply where it’s stretched between her hands. It reminds Flayn of her own school uniform, if much more brightly colored, and with delicate golden stitchwork that makes it quite unique. “You will look excellent in it,” she says. “I believe that type of skirt is very popular with the youth.”

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up, but she’s too clever to ruin her own plotting with whatever quibbles she may have. “See? Two votes to one, you’re overruled!” 

“My dress choices are not subject to majority rule,” Lysithea huffs, but she snatches the dress out of Hilda’s hands. “And you’re paying for it, Claude!” 

The dressmaker gestures towards the back of the shop. “If you’d like it altered, you can get changed in the back, young lady.” 

“I’m not a young lady,” Lysithea grumbles as she sweeps her way into the back of the shop.

With one victim down, Hilda swoops around onto the next. “Hey, Marianne…”

“No thank you,” Marianne says.

“Oh come on, I didn’t even say anything!” Hilda wags her finger. “But there’s so many dresses here...how about this. Just pick one out. I won’t even make you try it on, I just want to see you pick one.” 

“Um…” Marianne makes an aborted gesture at one group of mannequins before biting her lip. “Let’s see. What about - ah!” 

Flayn barely manages to catch a mannequin before it falls on her. Behind her, Hilda gapes. “Wow, Marianne, how’d you even knock that over? I could have sworn you didn’t even touch it.”

“I’m sorry,” Marianne says as Flayn rights the mannequin again, very aware of the dressmaker behind her. She is somehow able to project her disapproving gaze without eye contact. It’s nearly as distracting as having her father hovering. 

“It’s fine,” Hilda says. “Just pick something!” 

Marianne presses her hands together anxiously, frowning. “No, that’s okay. I’m just going to stand over here.” 

She looks miserable and small in a way that has nothing to do with the height Flayn has on her in Claude’s body. Flayn frowns as well, trying to think of how to help. She doesn’t know Marianne particularly well, and all her attempts at conversation have gone awry. What could cheer Marianne up? Perhaps she should invite Marianne to go fishing with her. 

Before she can do so, however, a light comes on in Marianne’s eyes. The corners of her mouth tug up, first a little, and then all the way as a peal of laughter bursts out of her mouth. 

Marianne covers her hand with her mouth, but she can’t stop herself from laughing. “You do look like a cupcake,” she says, looking past Flayn. 

On the other end of the shop, the newly-emerged Lysithea abruptly goes red, clashing horribly with her fluffy pink ensemble. “I’m taking it off!” She yells as she stomps back into the changing room. 

The dressmaker sidles up to Flayn as Marianne continues trying to stifle her laughter. “All sales are final,” she says with a sniff.

“That’s quite all right!” Flayn says, watching Marianne press her hands to her mouth and apologize unconvincingly through her own mirth. “I believe this was an excellent purchase.” 

Lysithea is not so easily convinced, shoving the dress into Flayn’s hands when she emerges and refusing to take it back. Flayn doesn’t mind; it will be another new addition to her wardrobe, and quite a charming one, too. 

It takes three whole cakes before Lysithea is mollified, but Flayn considers this gold well spent as well. She so rarely gets the occasion to spend time out like this with friends, and she appreciates the opportunity to deepen her bonds with her classmates.

Though she can’t help but feel a bit cheated by the knowledge that they’re not truly _her_ bonds. She might know now that Marianne has a very charming laugh and a fondness for Adrestrian-style pastry, but she can tell them nothing about herself for fear of giving herself away. 

It worsens her mood, enough that Hilda begins glancing at her oddly on their walk back. “Hey, Claude, what’s up?”

“Nothing is ‘up’,” Flayn says glumly. “I merely wish to do this again, but with Flayn accompanying us the next time.” 

Hilda’s eyes widen. “You and Flayn, huh? I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.” 

Flayn scowls. “And what is wrong with Flayn?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Hilda waves her hand as though shooing away Flayn’s ire. “Flayn’s so cute, anyone could see that. You guys just seem so different. I can’t see how it works, especially with Seteth breathing down her neck all the time.”

“I believe we have more in common than you might think,” Flayn says, thinking of Claude’s secret communications and unfortunate curiosity. Then, suddenly remembering that Claude has a secret lover, she hastily adds, “there is nothing between myself and Flayn.”

“Suuuure there isn’t,” Hilda hums, and then wheels around to loop her arm in Marianne’s and whisper gossip about Claude’s love life into her ear.

Flayn sighs. Well, at the very least she doesn’t seem to be inadvertently revealing any of Claude’s _real_ secrets. 

They part ways at the gate to the monastery, leaving Flayn at a loss for what to do. She should go try on her dresses, she supposes. But then what? It’s already evening, and this is her final night in Claude’s body. It feels as though she should do something exciting with the freedom. But she cannot think of a single thing.

Sighing, she starts making her way to the dormitories. Perhaps trying on her purchases will lift her spirits. 

But she has barely begun walking in that direction when someone places a meaty hand on her shoulder. “Hey there, Claude. Where are you headed? If you need some extra muscle, count me in.”

Flayn turns and looks directly into a man’s bare chest, thick and muscular, covered only by a chain. 

She drops her dresses. 

The individual who has accosted her bends and picks them up, holding them out to her in such a way that his glorious abdominals are once again on full display. “Guess you don’t need extra muscle, wherever you’re going,” he says as Flayn continues staring at the smooth lines of his muscles. “Are you going on a date, or did Hilda trick you into doing her shopping for her?” 

“Neither,” Flayn says, plucking her garments out of his hands and finally looking up into his face. Brown hair and brown eyes in a face that’s unfamiliar to her - this is no fellow student, though he is wandering the monastery without being accosted by knights. Perhaps he is a friend or relative of one of her classmates. “Do you know Hilda well?”

“Oh, sure,” the man says. “Me and Holst go way back. But I wanted to talk about you, not her.”

“Me?” Flayn asks. “Whatever for?” She does not particularly mind, not when she had nothing planned, and it is gratifying to see someone else who has no time for the stuffy dress code enforced by her father. But she suspects that Claude also knows this individual, though Flayn is completely unfamiliar with him. This may prove a difficult situation. 

“Oh, I just had a couple questions.” The man stretches his hands behind his head, looking down at her speculatively. “For starters...are you really the heir of House Riegan?”

Flayn relaxes. Perhaps this will be easier than she thought! “Yes.” 

The man waits, but Flayn has nothing to add. Claude is the heir of House Riegan! It is one of perhaps three things Flayn knows about him. 

“Okay…” the man says slowly. “Well...how’d you get to be the heir? I’m pretty sure the last Duke Riegan died without any kids, and it seems pretty unlikely that Oswald the Old had you and hid you. Especially not after the whole thing with his daughter.”

He pauses again. Flayn merely stares at him - or, more specifically, his coat. It’s very nice. She wonders if she could get one like it. Perhaps Hilda would know where to go for that kind of purchase. 

“...his daughter, Lady Tiana,” the man says. “I met her a few times when I was a kid. She was something special, you know? It was weird the way she vanished.” He pauses again, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, pal, are you going to keep staring at my amazing muscles or are you going to admit Lady Tiana is your mom?”

“Oh, my apologies!” Flayn says. “I was looking at your lapels.” She had been at that particular moment, anyway. “And certainly! Lady Tiana is my mother.” 

The man gapes at her. And keeps gaping for long enough that Flayn begins to doubt herself. Was that the wrong thing to say? This man seems much better-informed about Claude’s past than she herself is, but perhaps she has misunderstood who this “Lady Tiana” is.

“Wow,” he finally says. “I was not expecting you to come out and admit it.” He runs a hand through his hair as he lets out a breath. “So, about the far-off land people say she left to live in.”

“Yes?” Flayn asks politely. “Which land was this?” 

Apparently, this is also incorrect, as the man furrows his brow at her. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you,” he says.

And Flayn thought she was doing so well! “I know precisely what you are talking about!” She insists. “Lady Tiana went to live in...Kupala,” she says. Lorenz mentioned that, and she is fairly certain it is a place. “That is where I grew up.” 

The man is frowning uncertainly now. “You don’t have to lie to me. Or if you’re going to, pick a better lie than _that_.” He sighs. “I was so sure I had it all figured out…”

Flayn pats his meaty shoulder consolingly. “I think you were doing very well,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” the man says, shrugging off her hand. “Back to the drawing board, I guess.” 

He walks away without even saying goodbye, which is rather rude. But Flayn gathers from that conversation that he has either had or lost some kind of revelation, so she decides she will not hold it against him if she ever sees him again. 

With that odd encounter concluded, Flayn continues on to Claude’s room. She’s straightened it up a bit since Claude left it a mess, but it’s still not precisely neat, not in the same way her own space is. Still, there’s enough room to lay her new dresses out on the bed and pluck up the blue one. 

She dresses in it hurriedly, excited to see how it will look like on her. It’s rather simple in construction; after taking off Claude’s uniform, she shimmies into it, then spends a bit more time trying to zip up the back by herself. 

Finally, she succeeds! She races up to Claude’s mirror, excited to see how it looks.

It is so much better than seeing it on the mannequin! The neckline is daringly low, revealing her collarbones. Its half-sleeves cut off at her elbow, showing her bare forearms, but they are so tight that the lines of Flayn’s arms are completely obvious even where they are covered. The half-cape attached to it does nothing to hide her form, though it does add a bit of decoration to the sides of her throat. The dress hangs loosely over Claude’s narrow hips, but he is so tall that it also hikes up alarmingly high on his thighs, high enough that Flayn feels a bit giddy just looking at it, even before she strikes a pose to admire the way the side slit bares her leg.

And then she sighs. Because it’s not _her_ leg, is it? 

She slumps back onto the bed, hardly caring that she’s wrinkling both of her new dresses in the process. She had been so excited for the opportunity to experience all the things that were kept from her, but…

“It does not feel nearly as fun when I am not truly the one experiencing them all,” she says to herself. 

She stares up at Claude’s ceiling, suddenly impatient. She’d thought that the time she had in Claude’s body was not enough. Yet now all she wishes for is to return to her own body so that she can retrieve her dresses from Claude and wear them herself, and go have a drink with Raphael and Hilda herself, and eat cake with Lysithea and Marianne herself, and…

Flayn makes herself get up and get dressed again in Claude’s clothing, folding both her new dresses neatly on top of Claude’s desk. She casts a glance at Claude’s bed again before seating herself at his desk, resting her head on her dresses. 

“We merely need to sleep at the same time,” she reminds herself. 

But she cannot make herself get into Claude’s bed, though she did so easily enough last night. 

How foolish. For years, she has been so afraid of sleeping and waking up to find that everything has changed while she slumbered. Now, this is the one thing she wants, and yet she still finds herself afraid of it. 

“...will not be alone…” she mumbles, her eyes drifting shut. “Just be me...”

The dresses feel so soft under her. Perhaps it is because her head feels so heavy all of a sudden.

Claude wakes up to some weird fluffy fabric under his cheek and the certainty that he’s waking up somewhere other than he went to sleep. 

“Finally,” he groans, which quickly turns into a yawn as he sits up, stretching. 

Forget everything he’s ever thought about the guy before: Seteth is worse than he could have imagined. The guy hovers like it’s his life’s passion. Even Holst as Hilda describes him doesn’t seem so bad. If he’s really just Flayn’s brother, Claude will eat his own shoe. _All_ of his own shoes.

But that’s an observation he’ll have to file away with all the rest. For now, he looks around his room, checking to make sure everything is the way he left it. His desk drawer has barely anything important in it. He left the poison kit behind because he’s pretty sure Flayn’s too good a healer to poison herself with anything in it, but he’d sadly had to burn all his decoy letters in the false drawer. 

He sighs. It would’ve been so great if Lorenz had stumbled upon them like Claude had planned, but if Flayn had decoded them and _believed_ them while still in his body, it would’ve spelled trouble.

Oh well. He can always rewrite them if the mood strikes. He checks under the bed and grabs some of the knives he’d stashed down there, redistributing them in the desk drawer to make it more look lived-in. He leaves Flayn’s clothes on top of the desk - he assumes he’ll have to sneak her illicit purchases to her while she’s stuck in Seteth’s overbearing clutches, and that will be a project for later. Maybe he can recruit Ignatz as the fall guy. He’s so earnest and well-meaning that he might even escape Seteth with his life. 

He sniffs the shirt he’s got on and wrinkles his nose. Flayn must’ve been running around in it all day. At least she had the good sense not to sleep in his jacket, as dashingly handsome as it is. 

But he’s barely gotten the hem of his shirt in his hands before he hears a subtle thump - and not from the hallway outside. He tenses, hand finding one of those trusty daggers he just stuck in his drawer, before whirling around - 

To see a hand he spent a lot of time staring at the last couple days sliding open a stone at the bottom of the wall between his bed and dresser like it’s a window. 

Claude casually leans his hand back onto the desk, dropping the dagger there. “I wasn’t expecting to see you out and about yet,” he says. “How did you dodge Seteth?” He peers a little closer at the stone Flayn somehow slid aside. Looking at it like this, he’s pretty sure it’s not a stone at all. “And how did you know there was a secret passage there? _I_ didn’t even know there was a secret passage there, and I live here.”

“My brother gave me a map of all the secret passages in the monastery at the beginning of the year,” Flayn says, and Claude only barely manages to keep his mouth from dropping open. “Now come, join me! It is nearly time for sunrise, and I do not think we will have many easy opportunities to meet soon. --But bring my dresses with you, please.” 

“Sure,” Claude says, watching carefully as Flayn slides another few “stones” to the side, enough to make a passageway Claude can just crawl through.

He does, feeling for any special latches or buttons as he does so. Nothing. “Any chance I can get my hands on that secret passageway map?”

“No,” Flayn says easily. “You will have to discover them yourself. Now, follow me!” 

Claude follows her, trying to match all the twists and turns they take to his mental map of the monastery. He never knows when he’ll need another escape route. But it’s a pretty short journey that lets out onto the roof of the building that holds all the student rooms, close enough to the edge that Claude can see the grass in front of it when he clambers out.

In the predawn light, Flayn doesn’t look too different from the last time he saw her face in the mirror. Her hair is a couple inches shorter than it was before a horse decided it had it out for him, and getting Seteth to cut even that much had been a trial. But Flayn doesn’t seem to mind, brushing a hand through her shorter ends before turning to smile at Claude. 

“Well!” She says. “I must say, I am enjoying my new hairstyle more than I expected.”

She eyes the bundle of cloth in Claude’s hands meaningfully and Claude graciously hands it over. “It could have been worse,” he agrees. “I think you probably got the worse end of it. I only had to deal with Seteth for a couple days. He’s probably going to lock you up in a tower for the rest of your life.”

Flayn waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I will merely show him my extreme displeasure and he will relent,” she says. “I will be back in class eventually, though I do not know when. Further freedoms will require progressive displays of annoyance stretched over enough time that his fears will fade somewhat.”

“Wow,” Claude says, genuinely impressed. “You know how to play him like a fiddle.” By throwing a temper tantrum until Seteth folds like a cheap suit, apparently. Claude’s a little tempted to test his new theory with a joke about first-time dads and toddlers, but he should probably figure out what Flayn learned about him first.

Flayn sits on the edge of the roof, looking out to the east, and Claude joins her, sitting cross-legged beside her. The sun’s just starting to peek over the horizon line, already so brilliant he can only look around the edges of it as it paints the rest of the sky pink.

It’s a nice view. Claude hasn’t gotten to see one like it since he came to Garreg Mach. 

“This seems like a nice place to fly a kite,” he says. “Do you ever come up here just to mess around?”

Flayn brightens. “No, but that is an excellent idea!” She says. “I had a wyvern kite as a child. Perhaps I could acquire another and we could fly them up here together, now that we both know the spot.”

“I had a wyvern kite when I was a kid, too,” he says. “A big white one. I know just where to get us both one. But I’m pretty sure if Seteth ever sees us together again he’s going to beat me to death with his bare hands.”

“Then we will have to ensure he does not see us together, will we not?” Flayn says serenely. “There are many places in the monastery where two individuals could meet in secret. Though your presence is required at a future event with myself, Marianne, Lysithea, and Hilda, so we will need to bring in someone else to distract him then.”

So he and Flayn are apparently secret friends now, but only _kind of_ secret friends. Claude digests this for a moment. But hey, why not? He could make worse friends than someone as curious and confident as her, even if she can be pretty naive. And that’s not even factoring in her monastery connections or knowledge.

“So what did you do while you were in my body, anyway?” He asks. “I need all the details if I know what I’m going to do and say at this future meeting with half the class you’ve apparently penciled me in for.”

It turns out Flayn kept it pretty tame. She got a drink with Hilda and Raphael, “though I was then accosted by a tall, dark friend of yours in the bathroom,” she says with a wink. 

Claude wracks his brain for who she could be talking about. His only tall friend is Raphael. She makes it sound like the encounter was pretty friendly, at least on the surface, so she’s probably not talking about Hubert, who couldn’t do “friendly on the surface” if he was paid to. Who else does he know who is tall? “You didn’t buy Balthus a drink, did you?” 

“No,” Flayn says. “Is he the one with the prominent muscles?” 

So it _was_ Balthus, and Flayn got out of there without spending money on him. “Yeah, that’s him. Continue, if you will.” 

After meeting up with Claude for stable duty and escaping Seteth’s wrath, she’d tried to get some racy books from other students, since the monastery library is so lacking. “I am ashamed to admit I frightened Bernadetta terribly,” Flayn says with a sigh. “I do not know why! You are about as frightening as a mouse.” 

“I’m a little scarier than that,” Claude protests, mostly for show. He doesn’t mind Flayn thinking he’s harmless. “But everyone scares Bernadetta; don’t worry about it. Did you get what you were looking for?” 

Flayn beams. “Oh yes!” She says. “I was quite fortunate to stumble upon the school’s banned paraphernalia exchange!” 

“I’m sorry,” Claude says. “Can you say that again?” 

Flayn blinks. “The school’s banned paraphernalia exchange?” She says. “The system by which students, monks, and servants exchange items that are forbidden within the monastery? Dorothea informed me of its particulars, though I was under the impression all students knew of it.”

“Right, that one,” Claude says, already mentally scheduling a time to have a little chat with Dorothea. How does Flayn find these things? Maybe the thing that makes her blood so valuable and her ears so pointy also gives her a bloodhound’s nose for secrets.

“And then the following day, I went dress-shopping with Lysithea, Hilda, and Marianne after class, and then ate cakes with them,” Flayn says. “Oh! We should have invited Leonie! It did not even occur to me.” 

Claude tries and fails to imagine Leonie and Hilda dress-shopping together. “It’s probably for the best that it didn’t.”

“And then I ran into that...Balthus,” she finishes. “Do you know where I could get a coat like his? I found it quite impressive. Especially the way it wrapped around his bosom.”

Claude pinches the bridge of his nose. “Try a traveling merchant,” he says. “So that’s it? Nothing weird or unexpected?” No one so much as threatened her or tried to reveal his secrets? Flayn had an _unbelievably_ uneventful time as him.

“That is all,” Flayn says. “What occurred while you were in my body?”

“Oh, you know, just quality time with Seteth,” Claude says. He doubts Seteth will bring up the lunch with Rhea to her, and there’s no one to tell Flayn about how hard he tried to get her body to do something weird as a clue to her origins. None of it panned out, anyway. If Flayn has any special magic, Claude couldn’t figure out how to work it. 

“Then it all ended well!” Flayn concludes. “We both had novel experiences, gained a new perspective, and made new friends!” 

Coming from anyone else, it would be unbearably cheesy. But part of Flayn’s charm is that she means every word she says wholeheartedly, and Claude finds himself smiling. “I guess we did,” he says. He raises an invisible glass. “To secret friends, and keeping all our own secrets?”

“To secret friends!” Flayn says, knocking her fingers against Claude’s. “Though I must admit, I _did_ uncover one of your secrets.”

Whoops. Claude keeps his smile firmly in place as he says, “oh? Which one?”

Flayn looks at him with absolutely no levity, straight in the eye. Uh-oh. 

“Claude,” she says seriously, “I need you to tell me everything about your secret love affair with Hubert.”


End file.
